


A Halloween Story

by PoolexBordey_Forever



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Love, all hallow's eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoolexBordey_Forever/pseuds/PoolexBordey_Forever
Summary: When Richard and Camille brave a haunted plantation tour, they found themselves in the middle of a very strange phenomenon. Alien abduction this is not, but something paranormal would lead them to a very real conclusion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Here's a new story that I have been 'brewing' for the whole month of October (believe it or not). It started with the idea of wanting to write a Halloween story for Richard and Camille. Even though, the Caribbean islands don't celebrate it. (Correct me if I'm wrong on this one, I only read about it somewhere online.) Now there's the rub, how can I write about an event that's not even celebrated in the Caribbean? Of course, Saint Marie is a fictional Caribbean island but hey I'd like a semblance of something real and plausible in my story. 
> 
> Then another idea came to my head (oh these fanfic ideas they nagged you until you say 'yes, I'll write it'). I'm an avid X-files fan and there's an episode in my beloved X-files that's been one of my favourites. It's Episode 6 of Season 6, "How the Ghost Stole Christmas" I've watched this episode a bunch of times and I thought, wow, it's perfect. It's freaking perfect for Richard and Camille! 
> 
> A Saint Marie Halloween + an X-file episode inspiration = "A Halloween Story" for my OTP!!! YES!!! *fist pump*
> 
> If you're a fan of the X-files, you'll notice I patterned the story after Episode 6. In fact, I'm not ashamed to say I blatantly 'copied' some dialogues and gave it a Richard and Camille twist. So sue me! Just kidding, please don't, I don't have money. (T_T) I'm just 'innovating'. (Innovation - big word courtesy of big business conferences I sat through while writing this story. LOL)
> 
> Also, I've tried something new in this story. It's a bit dialogue-heavy and not much introspection or description. I was aiming to write succinctly. Alas, I don't think I succeeded. This is a 15,000++ word story! So much for avoiding long-windedness huh?
> 
> BUT! I'm posting this on All Hallow's Eve as a complete story. Woohoo! No waiting for updates! Read it in one seating or read it one chapter at a time. Oh how I 'spoil' you guys. Not really but I hope I did with this story. Hehe. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, for the comments, for the kudos and for simply being a Richard and Camille fan. I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Happy Halloween and happy reading! 
> 
> [P.S. I haven't thoroughly edited the whole thing so there might be some grammatical and typographical errors in here. I usually go through my stories and edit them again after I post them. But if you see any blatant errors, please let me know. Thanks.]

* * *

“Your attention please, everyone. First off, on behalf of The Royal Saint Marie Historical Society and Honore’s Chamber of Commerce, I’d like to bid you welcome to the Annual All Hallow’s Eve Tour. Thank you so much for choosing to spend your Halloween with me. Tonight we’ll visit unexplored places that are not in your guidebook at all.”

The middle-aged woman, wearing a witch’s hat and a pair of batwings, eagerly said as she smiled at the group of people before her.

“Are we going to see a haunted house or two?” asked an elderly woman.

“Let’s just say these old plantation mansions would be both historic and eeeeee-rie.” The woman winked. “Anyway, we should get a move on. I hope you all brought your torches.”

The group followed her down a gravel pathway lit by gas tiki lamps. They formed a somewhat disorganized line, forming little groupings of their own: young husbands and wives, families with children and elderly couples.

Trudging way behind the enthusiastic throng were Detective Inspector Richard Poole and Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey.

“You could at least show some interest,” chided Camille as they walk side by side.

“Well, this isn’t my idea of a quiet Saturday night, catching up on my reading,” Richard said.

Camille made a noise of disapproval. “Seriously, where’s your sense of adventure? Oh I forgot. You don’t have one.”

“Camille, looking at old plantation houses that are allegedly haunted is not my idea of an adventure.”

“Oh? Then what is?” There was a certain seductiveness in the way she said this as she glanced at him with mischief in her eyes.

Richard caught himself before he could make an unguarded answer. Something in the way she was looking at him made him blush to high heavens. It was a good thing it was dark.

Camille shrugged. “Well, think of this as another new experience. Or better yet, as part of the Chief of Police’s job, an order from the Commissioner to scope this tour out to make sure everything is conducted according to the law and keep an eye out for the tourists’ safety.”

Richard remained silent. He remembered very well how Camille cajoled, no, more like strong-armed, him into coming with her on this tour.

As they were locking up the station Friday night, she casually mentioned it and showed him the brochure titled: The Annual All Hallow’s Eve Tour. He didn’t understand it at first. Usually, most of the islands in the Caribbean didn’t celebrate Halloween. The locals were mostly Catholics.

“I thought Saint Marie has no Halloween,” he said, a bit confused.

“You’re right. The locals don’t celebrate it. But...” Camille paused for dramatic effect. “...since more and more American and European tourists are coming here for their holiday. The local government and tourism board decided that it would be beneficial to the economy to offer such tours that would be of interest to island guests at this time of the year.”

“In other words, it’s a holiday for profit,” Richard said matter-of-factly.

“And Christmas in the UK isn’t?” asked Camille, clearly getting annoyed.

“Of course not!” He said adamantly. Camille raised an eyebrow at him. He stubbornly didn’t budge. She raised it even higher along with a slight incline of her head as a challenge.

“Alright! You got me there,” Richard finally said. “Anyway, what does this tour got to do with us?”

“I was thinking that maybe we could...”

“No.”

“I haven’t finished what I was going to say!” Camille protested.

“I know what you’re going to say and my answer is no,” he said simply.

“You know what, you’re a very rude man!”

Uh-oh, Richard thought. He had done it again. He had made Camille mad at him. They were getting along rather nicely the whole work week. They were working more harmoniously and more in-sync. They argued less, bickered a little but bantered a lot. Quite a lot that he felt inexplicably happy they were becoming even closer than ever.

‘Where in the bloody hell did that come from?‘ he told himself, dismissing the thought instantly. Right now, he had to deal with the issue at hand: his obviously miffed detective sergeant. He winced as she closed her desk drawers with such force. He really had to make amends quickly before she decided to bodily throw him out of the station.

He picked up the brochure and cleared his throat. “What time and where should we meet?”

“What?” Camille said sharply as she glared at him.

‘Man up, Poole. You have no confidence to apologise to her for your rudeness earlier but by god, have some backbone now,’ he thought. “Um, you know...for this...this tour. What time and where should we meet?”

“You want to go?”

“Yes,” he managed to squeak out as he nodded, giving her his lopsided smile as an attempt at silent apology.

Camille’s hard stare softened. Clearly, the rude man was trying to make amends in his own way. She smirked in triumph.

“I’ll come by your place at 8 tomorrow night,” she said as she gave Richard the brightest of smiles. It completely disarmed him and he almost forgot to breathe.

And that was the end of his plan for a quiet Saturday evening.

“Or you could always go back to town and leave me here.” Camille’s disappointed voice yanked him back to the present.

“I’m here, aren’t I? So that means, I want to be here,” he said quickly, fearing that his silence had affected her. He could have added, _with you_ , but that would seem too forward or presumptuous of him. It wasn’t like they were on a date or something. This was probably just one of Camille’s projects to make him experience new things on the island.

“Good,” Camille simply said, secretly smiling to herself.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The group congregated outside an imposing old mansion typical of the French-Creole style. A two-story house with a dramatic staircase in the middle. Its broad spreading roof dotted by two dormer windows that looked like a pair of jutting eyes. Its gallery roof was supported by wooden colonnettes. It had multiple French doors and a wraparound mantel. 

The tour guide took her position a few steps up the stairs.

“This folks is The Garden of Eden mansion. Built in 1822. This looks majestic during the day but at night, it looks quite menacing, doesn’t it? Nobody has lived here for 90 years or so and for good reason: the property is said to be haunted by the star-crossed lovers.”

Richard rolled his eyes at the tour guide’s opening spiel. He was beginning to think he had wasted a nice Saturday evening just to listen to such made-up clap trap. He could have been at his shack, catching up on a book or two or even successfully watching Antiques Roadshow.

Instead, he was in an abandoned estate with a horde of  people—millennial couples  who were dressed up in costumes (Clearly, they haven’t grown up yet. What’s that oozing out of that young man’s forehead? Ew.); families with restless children (Most likely from eating unholy amounts of candy!); and, elderly couples (Good god! What if they suffer a heart attack due to too much fright?)—who wanted to scare themselves silly with ghost stories.

Camille elbowed him. ‘What?’ he mouthed in annoyance. She pointed at the tour guide and hissed: “Pay attention!” He made a face at her when she wasn’t looking.

“Let me read you a passage about it from the book, _Saint Marie’s Legends, Tragedies and Odd Occurrences_ , which, by the way, you can buy in Honore Museum’s gift shop,” the guide said and then cleared her throat.

“It was a time of dark, dark despair. Tragedy came out for a pair of star-crossed lovers  but by their own innocent hands. His name was Emil Higgins, a brooding but heroic young man, beloved of Adelaide James, a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow her wherever she went.”

“They were likened to two angels descended from heaven whom the gods could not protect from the horrors being visited upon this cold, grey earth. Driven by a tragic fear of separation, they forged a lovers’ pact so that they might spend eternity together. For in this very night, gunshots rang loud in the house they shared. No one knows who killed who but it was clear that they would never spend one precious day apart.”

She closed the book and said: “According to legend, their ghosts haunt this place every Hallow’s Eve.”

“Are we going inside then?” asked a very worried mother in the group.

“Unfortunately, no,” the tour guide said quickly. There were a few collective groans of disappointment from her audience. “The house is condemned, you see. The historical society is working hard to bring it up to code and make it safe again, so that it can be opened to the public. So at the moment, there’s nothing to see there but plenty of construction materials.”

“But don’t worry, we have a few more houses we’ll explore. There is one in particular that is perfectly safe and open to the public. And it’s history and ghost story can rival that of the Myrtles Plantation in America’s South. Of course, I’m saving that as our last stop. So folks, if you kindly walk this way. We’ve got a lot more to see.”

The tour guide led the group away from the Garden of Eden mansion as she continued to answer questions from people. The two detectives were falling behind as usual.

Richard trudged along as if something was occupying his mind. There was, indeed, something. The double murder case had piqued his interest as a detective. What was the truth behind the lovers’ pact? Though he hated to use that term because it romanticised an otherwise blatant disregard for human life. Someone killed another and that someone killed himself or herself, that was the fact.

He felt a light touch on his arm and looked at Camille.

“So what do you think? Are you scared?” She could tell that something in that story had interested him enough to make him furrow his brows, as he was wont to do whenever something niggled at him.

“May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!” Richard intoned.

Camille sighed: “I can assure you we are not going to be mangled by some gigantic hound.”

Richard quirk his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t know Camille read H.P. Lovecraft. Now that was something new he learned about her, which made his heart jumped a little. But he schooled his face into a scowl.

“That’s a good story but I don’t believe it,” he said with a shrug.

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” Camille asked in a playful tone. She knew fully well what his answer was going to be.

“And that surprises you?” Richard answered with a small smile forming on his lips.

“Well, yeah. I thought everybody believe in ghosts. Including you.” She walked away from him to catch up to the group.

“Honestly, Camille, sometimes your faith in the unscientific astounds me,” he called out, feigning disapproval.

Camille looked back and stuck her tongue out at him.

“And so adorably childish,” he muttered to himself, glancing around to make sure nobody heard him before walking after her.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

To Richard’s estimation, the tour wasn’t too bad. It had some interesting parts but every time the tour guide would dramatically emphasised anecdotal reports (read: mostly culled from dubious sources) of paranormal activities in the houses, he couldn’t help but dramatically roll his eyes or clear his throat at the stories. Surely, most of them were bollocks.

Camille did her best to chastised him, but soon she couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. Twice, the tour guide had to glare at them like a teacher warning unruly pupils. Richard would put up his serious Inspector face (which was easy to do given he was wearing a rather formal woolen suit) and nod apologetically at her to continue.

Camille, on the other hand, was a different matter. He didn’t think she would be quite the giggle-machine. Any attempt on his part to forbid or reprimand her from embarrassing them both would only result in a fit of giggles.

He tried everything but even a simple exasperated look from him would make her chortle. Only a whispered threat that he would leave the tour if she didn’t desist had her nodding apologetically as she wiped tears off her eyes. She excused herself, she needed to step away from him to regain her composure.

“Alright?” He asked her when she came back to his side after a few minutes.

She placed a hand over her mouth and just nodded. Richard gave her a doubtful look.

“I’m fine,” she said calmly. “Anyway, how are you finding the tour? Learned something interesting?”

“Oh yes. It’s a veritable source of so many unsolved murders. I can’t imagine how we’re going to cope if we’re suddenly called to solve murders due to supernatural circumstances. We may as well change our profession to ghostbusting,” Richard replied.

Camille was about to say something but decided against it for it may get her into another giggling fit. “Well then, we’re lucky we’re not doing any policing during that era. Anyway, I’m sure you won’t solve a case if it involves a murder caused by a ghost given how you abhor seances and trips to haunted houses.”

“We’re detectives. We deal with means, motive and opportunity that will contain scientific fact and evidence that will conform to known precedence. We do not deal, I repeat, we do not deal with ghosts, spirits or the paranormal,” Richard said with some finality.

Camille just shook her head. Her boss could have such a one-track mind when it came to policing. She wondered if he ever experienced being in a paranormal situation and how he would cope with it. Probably with the way he was doing it now: repeated rationalisations.

Soon, the tour ended and the group was now leaving the last estate house with numerous murders and supernatural mayhem in its history. As an official gesture and as a token of apology for their interruption of the tour, they offered to do a sweep of the house to make sure no wayward tourists decided to leave themselves behind and spend the night inside it.

Camille handed Richard a Maglite torch. “Keep an eye out for the spirits.”

“Yeah, right,” Richard said.

They both split up to cover more ground. They checked every rooms and made sure no one was left in the house. They met back at the hallway entrance.

“Well, I’m happy to report that there are no tourists who decided to stay behind and test their sanity, er, courage by spending a night in this house,” he said, handing the torch back to Camille.

“Oh? You didn’t encounter unexplained phenomenon like chairs moving by themselves, floating candles or heavy footsteps on the floorboards?” she teased.

He simply rolled his eyes at this. “Really, Camille, we’re not in some kind of horror movie where something happens behind our backs or jumps at us out of nowhere...” 

Just then the door closed itself shut with a bang, making them both jump.

“Like that. Though I can assure you there’s a perfectly logical explanation why that happened,” he said a bit hesitantly. “We better lock up, shall we?”

“Good idea,” Camille said as they hurriedly went out of the house.

* * *

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Richard was right. There was a perfectly logical explanation why the door shut itself. For as soon as they stepped outside, the wind was howling like mad, portent of a coming storm.

“We better make a run for it. It looks like heavy rains are coming,” Camille shouted over the din.

Richard just nodded and followed her. But the area where they parked the Defender was quite far off and no sooner than they started running, the rain came down in torrents. To top it off, strong wind gusts hindered their progress. It was becoming dangerous to be out in the open.

Camille took Richard’s hand and guided him toward the Garden of Eden Mansion. They were both soaking wet.

“We have to wait the rain out. It’s dangerous to continue further,” said Camille as she wring water off her hair.

“But the vehicle is just a kilometer or two away,” protested Richard.

“I’m not going to have this discussion with you. I let you go into a hurricane because of a murder investigation once. But you are not having your way this time around. When I say it’s dangerous, end of discussion,” Camille said firmly.

Richard could see from the glint in her eye down to her stance that she was dead serious. If he tried to even suggest making another dash for it, she would most likely blow a gasket and that would put a damper on their rather nice evening together. Even though technically, it wasn’t a date and it was a rather vapid Halloween tour.

“Of course. I defer to your better judgment. We should wait this rain out,” he said as he took off his wet jacket.

Camille secretly heaved a sigh of relief. She really didn’t want to argue with Richard especially when their Halloween tour went quite well. Even if he said he found some parts of it ridiculous, he seemed to have enjoyed it. She also hoped that he had enjoyed her company enough to maybe asked her out to dinner after.

But nature had another idea. There they were again stuck in a storm. What a way to end the night, all soaked and cold. They were standing on the patio of what was the first floor of the mansion. It was lined with alternating French doors and windows. Some of them were bordered up.

The area where they sought shelter wasn’t really giving them ample protection, especially when the rain showed no sign of abating. It continued to pour down in torrents. The strong gusts of wind kept changing the rain’s direction and sent big drops their way. Camille shivered unconsciously when the cold wind and water made contact with her skin.

“Sorry. I would offer you my jacket but it’s also soaking wet,” Richard said contritely. He worried that Camille might get pneumonia. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse that hugged her curves tightly. He resisted the urge to ogle her.

“Was there news about a hurricane coming?” He said out of the blue.

“I don’t think so. Usually, everyone would have known about it when there’s a big one coming to the island,” answered Camille, looking at her mobile for any news. “Great! I’ve got no signal.”

Richard took out his ‘ancient’ phone and peered at it. Zero bars. “Looks like mine is useless as well. Maybe this is just a one-off. The weather here can be so unpredictable,” he said. He saw that Camille was trying to open some of the windows and doors. “Camille?”

A French door gave way to her prodding. She opened it all the way and motioned for Richard to come over. “Um, Detective, that’s illegal entry and trespassing on government property, you know?”

“I’m cold and wet. Staying out here is not sufficient protection against the wind and rain. So I’m going inside. If you want to stay here, suit yourself,” she said and then stepped into the house.

A flash of lightning then thunder made Richard ran to the door. “Just remember, I don’t condone this behaviour. But in the interest of health and safety, I’ll let it go just this once!” He peered into the dark gloom inside. “Um, Camille?”

“Just get in,” she commanded. He stepped inside and was assaulted by the musty smell of rotting wood.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. This place is condemned. The foundation is probably rotting and the place is bound to fall down. We shouldn’t go in any further,” Richard blabbered as he tried to make out every detail of the interior in the darkness.

“Oh would you stop worrying. Of course, we’re not going in further. We’re not here to explore, we’re just here to seek shelter. I’m just trying to find a couple of chairs we can put by the door so we could sit and wait comfortably,” Camille said as she tossed him a torch.

It seemed they were in a large room, a center hall with a high ceiling decorated with an old crystal chandelier. The marble floor was covered in dust. There were signs of construction going on, wooden planks and materials were piled high in one corner. The furnishings were covered with sheets in another corner. A grand yet dilapidated staircase that lead up to the second floor was tucked way in the back.

Camille was lifting one of the covers off a chair when she heard a thumping noise upstairs. She pointed her torch upwards. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” was Richard’s quick reply.

The thumping noise came back much louder this time.

“Sounds like there’s somebody walking around on the second floor,” Camille declared, heading toward the stairs. “Let’s take a look.”

“Let’s not,” was Richard’s quick reply.

Camille spun around and shone the torch on his face. “Cut it out,” he said, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

“Come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid.” Richard said, trying hard to be nonchalant.

“Well then, let’s go. There might be someone in here illegally,” she said.

“You mean apart from you and me?”

“I mean a criminal hiding from the law. As police officers, it’s our duty to check  if someone is hiding out here for that reason,” Camille said as she confidently walked toward the stairs without looking back.

It took Richard a few seconds to go after her. He was debating in his head whether Camille just wanted to go ghost hunting or investigate perfectly alive criminals evading the police. His sense of duty and protectiveness of Camille won over. He found himself at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her.

“Um, Camille...”

There was another thumping sound. Camille stopped in the middle of the stairs, trying to determine where on the second floor the sound was coming.

“Camille...”

“Shhh...” A floor board creaked and then a whooshing sound. “What was that?”

“The strong wind must have pried open a window upstairs and was now wreaking havoc in a room somewhere, blowing away sheets and chairs, and making all kinds of noise,” Richard said as he went up behind her.

“Or maybe someone, a criminal, trying to rearrange the furniture,” she said as she paused to listen to more sounds. “Or maybe, the ghosts are the ones making all that racket.”

“Oh please. The mind is good at playing tricks. People watched so many horror films that chances are they will relive the fear that they felt every time they hear or see something unknown in the darkness. They see a shadow and they allow themselves to imagine something that an otherwise rational person won’t even consider,” explained Richard.

“Like you?” she asked, teasing tone evident in her voice. He couldn’t make out in the gloom if she was smirking. He let out a sigh.

“Seriously, what’s the purpose of the dead coming back as ghosts?”

“Perhaps, they want to send a message, reassure their loved ones, give them a warning or haunt someone. There are a lot of reasons,” said Camille as she went up the stairs.

“Did any of these ghosts actually said that these are the reasons why they came back?” He knew he was being pedantic but he couldn’t help it. “Aren’t these reasons just the interpretation of people who are living? In a seance, the one who ‘communicates’ with the dead, aren’t they the ones who are giving meanings to these ghost sightings and phenomena?”

Camille admitted that he had a point, though she didn’t say that out loud. She considered herself an open-minded person. She grew up with a belief system that there was life after death, that there was redemption and resurrection. But she also believed that there simply were things that neither science nor religion could never explain. And she was fine with that, too.

“I see where you’re coming from, Richard. You’re right. The living are really the ones who assign meaning to paranormal phenomena, including ghosts. It’s a fundamental characteristic of people to try to explain and understand some things that are unknown to them,” she said.

“Precisely,” replied Richard. “It says more about the living than the dead, doesn’t it?”

“Ah but this yearning and hoping for something beyond this mortal coil is what makes us...” Camille paused as she gingerly avoided a hole on one of the stair’s steps.

“What?” Richard asked impatiently as he mimicked her movement to avoid the same hole. 

“Human.” Camille said simply. Just then, they heard a door open. She climbed the stairs two at a time with Richard at her heels. They reached the top landing and trained their torches ahead.

They found an open door down the hallway. There was a dim light coming out of the room. Feeling chivalrous and fearful at the same time, he signaled to Camille to stay behind him. If there was indeed a living, breathing human being in there, they didn’t want to startle him or her by suddenly barging in. Who knows what state of mind that person would be in. Or if he or she had a weapon.

Richard peered in the room first, apprehension etched on his face. But it was soon replaced by a look of surprise.

Camille, who was just a few steps away, asked anxiously: “What is it?”

“You may be right, Camille. Somebody is living in this house,” he declared.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The two detectives stepped into a beautifully appointed room, a library filled with antique books. The desks and chairs were of deep black leather and of wood that were heavily ornate. The hardwood floors were decorated with Persian rugs while yellow incandescent bulbs in its four corners illuminated the interior dimly. There was also another door across the room.

Camille was doubtful. “But who would live in a haunted and cursed house?”

“Uh, an escaped criminal who is desperately trying to avoid the law? Think about it, this is the last place the police would check, isn’t it? Unless, someone reported a rather suspicious phenomenon like lights seen from its windows or sounds of furniture being moved?” Richard explained.

“No, what I mean is, why would anyone want to stay here given the house’s reputation. Believe it or not, I’ve read up about this place and there were reports that every couple that ever lived here has met a tragic end. Three double murders during the time the house was still livable and all on this very day,” stated Camille.

“I’m sure those reports were grossly embellished to liven up the house’s history and in time, people kept adding their own figments of imagination to perpetuate the notion that it’s not just a haunted house, it’s a cursed house as well. This is how urban legends are born,” said Richard as lightning flashed outside the window causing the bulbs to flicker.

The thumping sound came back.

“There’s that sound again. Where is that coming from?” Camille said, searching around the room. Richard could sense the tension in her voice, he wondered if she was afraid. He dismissed the thought entirely. He was sure she had been in more dangerous situations than this. Maybe he could do something to help her forget about that sound.

“I can’t seem to find it. Maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me,” she said as she abruptly faced Richard, who was holding his lighted torch under his chin. She let out a strangled yelp as Richard tried hard to screw up his face to avoid laughing out loud.

“That’s NOT funny!” Camille scolded.

“Sorry, I just...um...testing my torch to see if it was working properly,” he said softly, looking down at the floor to avoid her fierce gaze. His eyes noticed a couple of uneven floorboards as if they were pulled and replaced often.

“Hang on, Camille. I think there’s a hiding space under the floorboards. Maybe a secret trap door or passageway. Whoever might be living here would use it to hide down there, right?” he said as he started prying the floorboards off.

“Richard, it might be dangerous,” Camille said. She looked around and saw a big pair of wooden pineapple bookends on the desk. She grabbed one. “We need a weapon.”

Richard continued to take off several floorboards but he didn’t find a passageway. Instead, he and Camille discovered two fully dressed skeletons, with visible holes on their clothing.

“Oh my god!”

“Well, this looks like a real double murder case. At least one of the reports you’ve read was true,” said Richard. He was disappointed that they didn’t find a secret passageway but his detective brain was now asking a gamut of questions.

“I wonder how long the remains were here?” he asked Camille.

“A fairly long time, I suppose,” Camille replied, looking at the remains closely. “But obviously not from 100 years ago. The clothes looked modern.”

“Agreed. If this is fairly recent, I wonder if we have a file about missing persons at the station. We should bring our forensics team in here to sweep the place or better yet, we can send the remains to be examined and dated,” he said.  “The main thing is, we find out who were these people.”

Richard got up and took out his mobile. There was at least one bar and so he tried calling Fidel. Meanwhile, Camille examined the skeletons closely.

From their clothing, she assumed these were a couple—a man and a woman. The man was wearing a suit while the woman seemed to be wearing a sleeveless floral blouse. It looked familiar like she had seen it before. It took her a moment to recognise it. She stood up abruptly and almost stumbled onto Richard.

“Whoa! Are you alright, Camille?” he asked with concern as he steadied her.

She rubbed her temple before she spoke: “I found something weird on one of the skeletons.”

“What?”

“She’s wearing my outfit,” she blurted, half-believing and half-disbelieving what she just heard herself say. “We have the same blouse and pants.”

“That’s impossible,” Richard quickly said as he crouched down to have a closer look at the clothes. He looked at the skeleton, then at Camille and then back at the skeleton. “It might just be a coincidence. I mean your clothes are not uniquely tailor-made, right? So there’s bound to be more than one of them out there and maybe she just happened to buy the same thing somewhere.”

Camille thought it was a plausible explanation except for one thing. “But you don’t believe in coincidences!”

“Are you telling me that this is you?” He decided to just come out with that one thing she really wanted to tell him to save them both the headache.

“Yes! Isn’t it weird?” She said, feeling relieved that Richard had voiced her concern.

“It is!” He agreed wholeheartedly. “Because it’s impossible. You’re standing before me right here, right now. So how could that skeleton be you? Don’t tell me the other skeleton is me just because it’s wearing a suit like mine. That’s really pushing it.”

Camille was flabbergasted. Of course, he would try to rationalise even something that was happening before his eyes. “Alright. Let’s check the pockets of the skeleton who wears the suit.”

They both crouched down. Richard began checking one of the pant pockets of the skeleton. In one, he found a neatly folded paper but the letters and images on it were far too faded to be recognisable. Then he checked the other pocket and found a small rusted pen knife. He recognised it immediately but he didn’t say a word.

They both stood up and faced each other. “Now show me what’s in your pockets,” Camille demanded. He hesitated. She arched an eyebrow.

He dipped his hand in one of his pockets and pulled out the neatly folded brochure of The Annual All Hallow’s Eve Tour. Camille just nodded. Then he took out his small but precious pen knife from out of his other pocket.   

“That’s it! Let’s get out of here,” Camille declared and took hold of his sleeve to pull him out the door with her before he could protest.

“Hang on a minute, Camille!” Richard finally spoke. “It doesn’t prove anything. Maybe somebody planted it there.”

“Oh really? Somebody stole the brochure and the pen knife from your pockets without you knowing it and then put them inside the skeleton’s own pockets? Why is that, do you think?” she asked in rapid fire.

“I don’t know,” he shot back. “All I know is, a DNA comparison would prove without a shadow of a doubt if those are our skeletal remains or not. And that can only be done through forensics. So, I won’t believe those skeletons are us until it’s proven otherwise.”

Camille let out a sigh of frustration. It was hard enough to explain to herself what was happening, but to convince this rational and logical man of it would be damn near impossible.

“For now, let’s get out of here. We’ll come back in the morning to sort this out,” she said as she hauled him out of the door again.

“Hold on. We’re going in circles.”

“What?”

“This is the same room,” Richard declared, looking around.

“Let’s go try the other door then,” Camille suggested. They walked across the other side of the room. They got out of that door only to come out of the other door they left behind. 

“Is this a trick room?” Richard asked in confusion. He looked out the door and saw a mirror image of the library on the other side. He went back and forth through the door and found the rooms to be the same. “Something’s not right here.”

“You think?” Camille said, still flummoxed at his denseness.

“Alright. Let’s not panic. It’s just that it’s dim in here and the different sounds we hear are making our minds confused and distracted. Let’s see...” He paced back and forth, willing his brain to think logically. “...if there are two identical rooms seemingly connected to each other in some kind of circle, then if I go through that door, I would come out this door.”

“I guess so. It’s worth a try. I’ll wait for you here,” replied Camille. She decided to let him work through what was happening in his own way.

With torch in hand, Richard went through the other door while Camille waited for him to show up by the door beside her. But almost five minutes had past and he hadn’t shown up. Camille began to get worried.

“Richard?” she shouted. No answer. She went across the room but before she could reach the other door where Richard got out, both doors slammed shut. “Merde!”

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Meanwhile, Richard opened the door that led to the first library they found, expecting Camille to be waiting for him. But she wasn’t there. He panicked a little. He couldn’t have gone that long for Camille to go looking for him, right? She probably got worried and went after him.

“Camille? Camille! Where are you?” he shouted as he went across the room toward the other door. When he opened it, he found a brick wall completely blocking the other side.

“What in the bloody hell is this?” He didn’t really know how a brick wall got there. His brain wasn’t processing that yet. His immediate concern was that Camille must have been trapped on the other side. “Camille! Camille!” He thumped the wall to test if it was hollow. The sound it made indicated that it was quite solid. He groped its edges, hoping to find a trigger mechanism that would trip it and make it open. No luck.

“Camille? Can you hear me? Camille!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“I say! Will you please stop all that racket?!”

Richard spun around to see who the voice belonged to and he came face-to-face with an old English gentleman. The old man looked to be in his late 70s, with a clean-shaven yet gaunt face. He had long scraggly white hair sticking out of a ... was that a plaid green deerstalker hat?

Richard thought it rather odd for the old man to wear a deerstalker hat in a tropical island like Saint Marie. But who was he to judge? He wore a woolen suit all the time.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here? But could you please stop all that shouting, it’s the middle of the night for god’s sake!” The old man said shaking his black umbrella and  putting it aside. He took off his long coat and hang it on a hook by the door. 

“Who are you?” demanded Richard, a bit taken aback by the old man’s sudden appearance and his casual way of coming into the room as if he owned the place.

“That’s the question I should be asking you being this is my house you’re standing in. So who are YOU?” The old man said back to him, bewildered and a little put out.

“I’m Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the London Metropolitan Police and Saint Marie Royal Police Force,” answered Richard, feeling that coming out openly with his rank and profession would put the old man at ease.

“Oh good. I thought you’re a burglar come to rob my house of its possessions. Would you like me to show you the door?” the old man asked, pointing to the door behind Richard.

Richard thought he was being made fun of: “That’s very funny. That’s a door with a brick wall behind it.”

“Riiiiight,” said the old man, nodding while looking at him doubtfully.

“I don’t mean to be rude. But I really don’t appreciate being made the subject of a practical joke. I think it was you who had been playing tricks on us,” Richard blurted out. He didn’t usually jump to conclusion without ample evidence but he was beginning to feel something wrong was going on in the house and Camille was trapped somewhere in it.

“Us?” asked the old man. “I take it you’re not alone?”

“Yes. I came on a tour with my detective sergeant and it began to rain quite hard so we took shelter in this house. We came upon this room and found two doors. This other door led to another room identical to this one. So I went through that door, came back in here through the door you came in and she wasn’t here. Now, I’m trying to look for her.”

The old man laughed out loud. “That’s your story? And you say, you’re the police? Here’s what I think, you’re ghost hunters come to see if the house is really haunted. Where did you set up your gear? The EMF? The EVP recorder? Or how about your proton packs, PKE meters and ghost traps eh?”

Richard looked at him, completely puzzled. The acronyms and pop culture reference were lost to him. He just stared at the old man with a serious and unsmiling face. The old man stopped chuckling.

“I can assure you, sir, that we are actually the police. We’re not hunting for ghosts,” Richard said bluntly, bristling at the fact that he was mistaken for a paranormal investigator. “Also, if you are tricking tourists for profit in this house it could be classified as a felony offence and you will be made to pay a hefty compensation to the victims who fall prey to your tricks. But most importantly, if I can prove that these skeletal remains under your floor are skeletons of human beings, I’ll have you down for some very serious charges like murder.”

“Skeletons under the floor, you say?” asked the old man.

“Correct. Right there under that floor,” Richard said quickly, pointing to where he pried open some floorboards to reveal the skeletons.

The old man looked to where he was pointing and knotted his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you do. There were corpses. Bodies buried under the floor...” he said losing his patience as he glanced at the exposed floor. He was surprised to find the floor intact and the pile of floorboards he took off were gone.

“How? What? Did you do this?”

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t do anything. I was talking to you the whole time,” said the old man.

Richard rubbed his temples vigourously. He pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing incessantly. “There were skeletons under the floor. Right there.”

The old man sighed. “Son, do you drink? Or do drugs? Perhaps, you’re high?”

“What?!? Of course not!” He declared vehemently. He sighed and shook his head.

“Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll fix you some tea. How about that?” offered the old man kindly.

Richard shrugged. He suddenly felt exhausted. He was thinking he should just forget the skeletons and find Camille then get out of there. This was too much of an adventure for him. It was getting rather taxing and frustrating at the same time. He sat on one of the big leather arm chairs glumly.

“The brain can get tired, you know. Over-thinking can send it to overload. So it’s good to step back and stop for while,” said the old man, giving him a cup of tea.

“How do I know this? I’m in the field of mental health. My expertise is in disorders and manias in relation to pathological behaviour as it pertains to one’s overuse of mental faculties to repress emotions and hidden desires.”

“Oh? I didn’t know such a thing exists,” said Richard, sipping his tea.

“Yes, it does. There are people who seek my help. I’ve interacted with different types of individuals who all had the same affliction. In fact, I’ve come up with a catalogue of sorts, a cross axial classification of personality types like yourself and you know what I found?” the old man paused and looked Richard in the eye. “You all tend to fall into the same category.”

“What category is that?” He asked, not really buying what the old man was selling but he needed to focus on something else for a moment to give his brain time to recuperate. 

“Narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac,” stated the old man with a smile.

“Really?” said Richard with one eyebrow raised in obvious doubt.

“Sure. You kindly think of yourself as single-minded, prone to obsessive compulsiveness, workaholism and anti socialism. All of which make up a field in your mind that is ripe and prone to total mental breakdown,” the old man said, smirking in his tea as he sipped it.

“I’d like to think I’m more complicated than that,” Richard dismissed.

“Oh really? Raving like a lunatic about some imaginary skeletons under the floor and a brick wall behind a door? Aren’t those symptoms of a gradual descent to losing your grasp on reality? A sign that the world you built within yourself is closing in on you, trapping you, squeezing the life out of you.”

A feeling of dejavu seized him. He was back at his boarding school being terrorised by Sister Benedict’s spot checks. Back then, he wanted to runaway but he couldn’t. He had the same feeling now.

“You know what, you’re a lonely man, Inspector Poole. A very lonely man, trying to keep himself enclosed in a cocoon of his own making, protecting himself from the outside world while chasing after the only work that will give his life meaning or significance. Your work, pursuing murderers, isn't it? It’s the only thing that provides you solace because your pathetic social maladjustments make it impossible for you to find happiness elsewhere or even with someone.”

Richard stared at the cup on his lap. He found it difficult to hold the old man’s intense gaze. It felt like he was under a microscope, every deep and dark secrets he kept under covers were being brought out to the surface and scrutinised. It was disconcerting. He wished for it to stop.

But the old man continued: “You probably fancy yourself as passionate, serious and just awfully misunderstood. But the truth of the matter is, most people see you as pompous, pedantic, uptight and that they would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with you.” 

“Well, I can’t really control what people think or how they act toward me, can I?”

“How long have you been alone?”

“Excuse me?”

“How long?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. But if you must know, I’m not alone.”

“More self-delusions?”

“No. I came here with Camille. She’s behind that brick wall.”

“Behind the brick wall? Hmm...that’s one way to put it,” the old man nodded knowingly. “She’s always behind a brick wall with you, isn’t it? I mean, you let her in once in a while but you always show her out. You must feel wretched because you do care for her.”

“I...I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“You act reluctant to come with her but you actually want to come and be with her, do you not? Even if you have to put up with her endless chit chat and teasing. Do you know why that is, Inspector?”

“I don’t know. You’re the mental health expert. You tell me,” Richard said, feeling helpless and weary at the same time. Suddenly his logical defences were weakening against the old man’s psychological onslaught. It was probably the tea.

“It’s because you’re afraid. Afraid of the loneliness. Afraid of ending up alone in your old age with nobody to care about and nobody who cares for you. Afraid of suddenly dying surrounded by nothingness and regret. Am I right?”

Richard was speechless. The old man had hit a very sensitive nerve and he had no idea how to respond. It was like a sum of his whole life was laid out before him and he was being forced to look at his ugly vulnerabilities. He reached for his tie, feeling the smooth fabric and the solidity of the hard knot. He tugged at it as he inclined his head this way and that. He forced himself to smile inspite of it all.

“Look, I just wanted to find Camille,” he finally said as calmly as he could.

“That’s easy, you just have to break down the wall,” the old man said. He stood up, opened the door with the supposed brick wall and stepped out. He turned to Richard and said, “Brick wall?” At this he gestured to the door. “Or brick wall...” He said as he pointed to his heart. “You decide.”

The light bulbs in the room suddenly flickered and went completely out but only for a few seconds. When it came back on, Richard found himself standing in front of the door with a brick wall again.

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

“Richard! Where are you?” Camille shouted as she tried to open the door where Richard went out. It was no use, it was locked tight. No amount of tugging or pulling could open it. She willed herself to tamp down the rising panic inside her. ‘Focus, Camille. What would Richard do?’ she thought. She took out her mobile phone and dialed Richard’s number. But it wouldn’t connect.

Just then, she heard the other door open and close. She spun around, thinking it was Richard but saw an old woman in a night gown instead. The old woman’s sudden appearance startled her. She knew she shouldn’t scream, she didn’t want to. She even commanded her mouth not to, but it was too late.

The dim lighting of the room coupled with the timing of the lightning and thunder outside created a frightening image for her. Terror clutched at her heart and the fear took over. She let out a scream. But the funny thing was, the old woman was screaming with her. 

“Good heavens! You scared the wits out of me, child!” the old woman said, placing a hand on her chest. “I’ve never screamed like that before, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Who are you anyway? And what are you doing here?”

Camille regained her composure. It was silly of her to think the old woman was a ghost. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Honore Police,” she said apologetically.

“For a minute there I thought you were a ghost,” said the old woman.

“I assure you, I’m not. It’s just that I got stuck in this room looking for my colleague,” replied Camille. She was still wary of the old woman. She couldn’t help but think that her suddenly showing up was a tad convenient and suspicious.

Camille moved behind the desk to place a physical barrier between her and the old woman. She didn’t think the elderly woman was a threat but she thought it wise to be safe than sorry. The woman looked to be in her early 70s, her face revealed signs of her age but it also showed she was most likely beautiful during her younger years.

The next thing Camille noticed was that she was wearing a rather old-fashioned night gown, voluminous and flowing, which was quite weird in an island as hot as Saint Marie even at night. The woman had curly grey hair sticking out of her sleep bonnet. Sleep bonnet? Another thing out of the ordinary, she thought. But she dismissed it.

“Oh, the uptight-looking Englishman in a woolen suit?” asked the old woman casually.

“You’ve seen him?” she asked earnestly.

“With you, on the first floor. I thought he was a ghost, too,” said the old woman. “I sleepwalk sometimes and I thought you were ghosts. But then, here you are in the flesh. I must be getting old.”

“I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you. We’re just waiting for the rain to stop. We heard noises up here and thought it might be a criminal hiding from the police or some burglar,” explained Camille.

“Oh that was probably me. I create such a raucous when I sleepwalk. One time, I rearranged every furniture in this house without knowing it. It was quite hilarious. Everything was upside down,” chuckled the old woman. “If you don’t mind, I’ve been up on my feet for quite some time, I’ll go have a seat.”

The old woman took a seat on one of the big leather arm chairs across the desk. She had a smile on her face. “So, this Englishman, is he your intended?”

“Um, excuse me?” Camille asked, uncomprehending.

“Oh my, what’s the term you youngsters use nowadays?” the old woman quipped. “Let’s see, um, boyfriend was it? Yes, is he your boyfriend?”

“No. No, he’s just a work colleague. Um, he’s my boss,” a flustered Camille said. She was still trying to understand what the word ‘intended’ meant. Why the English loved to come up with such vague words, she would never understand.

“Oh, I see,” shrugged the old woman. “It’s just that from the way you were shouting his name earlier, you sounded very anxious for his safety.”

“Of course, I’m worried about him. He’s my responsibility. I was the one who invited him to come to the ghost tour with me. If anything happens to him, I won’t be able to forgive myself. I mean, he didn’t even want to come here in the first place,” Camille said, trying to remain calm but failing.

“So you’re saying if you didn’t invite him on the tour with you then both of you wouldn’t have gotten separated like this, right? That he wouldn’t be out there fending for himself,” said the old woman with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Camille, arms crossed in defence.

“Come on, child. I can see it in your face. This conflicted yearning between duty and love, a subconscious desire to find fulfillment through another, a sort of intimacy through co-dependency. And yet, you have this fear that if you don’t make a move he will never come around. Why is that?” asked the old woman as she gazed intently at Camille.

Camille, in turn, just shook her head and looked away. Why indeed? She had asked herself the same question. She wanted to be his friend, wanted to be close to him. It seemed a thankless job but she always made an effort. He had such a closed-off personality that she had to barge her way in. For how else could she know if he cared?

“Perhaps, you don’t want to face the truth. You pretend that it’s out of duty, that it’s your job to introduce him to new things on this island because you are unable to admit your little secret—that you simply want to be with him. You tease him, you rile him up, you challenge him but you put up with his constant rants and grumblings. So when are you going to openly admit you care about him and just tell him? Hmm?”

Camille looked at her, mouth agape in disbelief. Tell Richard? She almost laughed an ironic laugh at that one. Never. If only this old woman knew who Richard was, she wouldn’t suggest such a thing. But she, for her part, knew better. If she told him, he would either runaway or cite something about regulation. No, their professional relationship and friendship would always come first. Any romantic notion would not be allowed.

“Excuse me but I don’t think that’s any of your business,” said Camille crossly. Maybe it was time to change the subject, she thought. She put on her detective persona. “But it’s our business as police officers to investigate the bodies we found in here.”

“Bodies? Where?” asked the old woman, feigning interest.

“Under your floor,” said Camille as she walked to the place where Richard had took off the floorboards. “It was right here...” She stopped on her tracks and looked at the pristine floor. She looked around the room, thinking she must have gotten the location wrong. But it seemed the whole floor of the room was intact. “That's impossible. There were skeletons underneath that floorboard.”

“I think the ghosts have been playing tricks on you,” joked the old woman. “There are ghosts in this house, you know.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Camille as she headed toward the door where the old woman came from and opened it. A brick wall greeted her. She staggered back in surprise. She was on high alert now. “Who are you?”

“I’m the owner of this house. Who else could I be?” said the old woman indignantly.

“Where is Richard?” Camille demanded.

“I don’t know,” answered the old woman.

“This isn’t your house, is it?” She held onto her torch tightly. She was trapped in a room with a strange old woman.

“And what makes you say that?” The old woman queried, feeling hurt at Camille’s insinuation.

As if on cue, an old man entered the room through the other locked door. ‘He must have a key,’ Camille thought, shocked at his sudden arrival. She was now thinking of ways to get the key from him without hurting him. She knew she would be outnumbered if she took it by force. Plus, she would really hate to have to hurt them.

“Oh darling! It’s a good thing you came. This young lady is accusing me of unlawfully occupying my own house. Isn’t that rude? To think, we’ve spent a fortune making this house our home,” the old woman pouted.

“Oh my. That won’t do,” said the old man as he went to his wife’s side and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Who are you? Where’s Richard?” Camille demanded again.

“Why, I’m the man of this house and I really don’t appreciate being rudely spoken to in my own home,” said the old man sternly. “To answer your question, I didn’t do anything. But don’t worry too much. He’ll be along.”

He turned to his wife and said: “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my dear. That Englishman is a tough cookie to crack.”

“What did you do to him?” asked Camille as visions of Richard tied up and unconscious in the house’s cellar popped in her head. “May I remind you that hurting a police officer is a severe criminal offence on this island!”

The old woman sighed. “I think it’s time we show her, my love.”

“Oh I thought you’d never ask,” replied the old man, chuckling.

They both faced Camille, who was immediately on her guard. She didn’t really know what the two were planning to do but as she looked closely, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The old man took off his deerstalker hat, while the old woman opened her night gown.

Camille found herself looking through a huge hole in the middle of the old man’s forehead. Then she glanced at the woman’s gaping stomach and saw the other side of the room through it as well.

She was utterly stupefied, blinking once or twice before she could process what she was seeing. The shocking revelation had its desired effect and she promptly passed out.

The elderly couple smiled at each other in satisfaction. The old man placed his hat back on and the old woman closed her night gown neatly.

“Oh why do we have to resort to these gimmicks and cheap tricks?” the old man grumbled. “We used to be so good at haunting.”

“Well, we used to have years to drive them mad. Now, we only get one night,” replied the old woman, pouring some tea on a couple of tea cups.

“This pop psychology is ghastly. We have to talk about...feelings...ugh...do you know how hard it is for an Englishman to do that?” said the old man as he sat down on one of the leather arm chairs.

“Is that why that other Englishman was being difficult,” his wife laughed, offering him some tea.

“Oh bloody hell! Don’t remind me,” he said as he took the cup. “When was the last time we actually haunted anyone?”

“When was the last time we had a good double murder? Ages upon ages ago, ever since the house fell into ruins,” reminded his wife.

“This is just embarrassing. Clearly for amateurs,” he huffed, taking a long sip of his tea.

“Darling, if we let our reputations slip, they are going to take us off the tourist brochures,” she warned, giving her husband a chastising look.

“That’s impossible. Now that Halloween is beginning to catch on in this island, I’m sure there will be people showing up here,” her husband reassured her.

“I know. Isn’t that exciting? I’m glad we have these two to practice on. I have a feeling we’re going to have such fun with them. These two seemed ripe for the picking, don’t you think so?” she said as she daintily drank her tea.

“You’re right. These two do seem pretty miserable. We need to show them that not being true to their feelings could very well lead them down the path to utter loneliness and desperate isolation.”

“We’ll drive them to madness?”

“My dear, when love is not madness then it is not love, is it?”

“Darling, that’s so hauntingly romantic.”

The elderly couple clinked their tea cups and laughed wickedly.

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

“I’m sure there’s a secret latch in here somewhere that would open that brick wall. A house as old as this always has one hidden in these shelves. A fake book, perhaps...” Richard said out loud as he frantically pushed and pulled every book on the library shelves. A good pile of books were already strewn on the floor.

“I’m sure there won’t be anything of the sort!” an exasperated voice behind him said.

Richard turned around quickly. In the dim light, he could only make a silhouette of a person standing by the other door. “Who’s there?”

The silhouette came forward. It was an old woman wearing an old-fashioned night gown and sleep bonnet, smiling amicably at him. “Oh you must be Inspector Poole.”

Richard nodded mutely. “Where’s the old man who was with me earlier?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to my husband, he went to fix the generator. The power has been erratic. It usually does that when it’s raining,” the woman explained. Her face quickly fell when she saw the state of the room. “What on earth have you done to our library? The books are all in disarray!”

“Um, yeah, I’m so sorry about that madame. I was trying to get out of this room. You see, there’s a brick wall behind this door,” he said apologetically.

“A brick wall?” The old woman asked, clearly in doubt.

Richard nodded and then suddenly realised how he could get out. “Oh well, I guess, I would have to just let myself out from the door you came in.”

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t go out that way,” protested the old woman as Richard walked past her and reached for the door knob. He opened it and found yet another brick wall blocking his way.

“I can’t believe this! What are you people? Some kind of magicians using elaborate illusions to trick hapless tourists?” Richard ranted. “When I get out of here, I will haul the tour organizers to the station and slap them a hefty fine for scamming people and trying my patience! Better yet, I will have the tour shut down entirely!”

“Wait just a minute, Inspector. You shouldn’t be making threats like that when you and your detective sergeant are the ones trespassing in someone else’s property!” The old woman huffed.

“Trespassing?!? Madame, I have told your husband why we came to be in your house. It was pouring rain outside, we sought shelter, the door was unlocked, we thought no one was living here and so we came in,” he spat back, frustration in his tone.

“What I don’t like is being trapped in here and psychoanalysed like a lab rat. You know, I can think of a myriad of charges for this, unlawful detention, false imprisonment to name a few. I can also add mental torture to the mix. And Camille’s kidnapping. I know you are holding her captive somewhere in here. I need to find her so we can get out of this place!”

“I’m sorry, Inspector. But you need to calm down. You are seriously scaring me!” The old woman shouted over him in a high-pitched, mousy voice. 

Richard took a deep breath. He knew he had gone overboard. He straightened his tie, pulled on his cuffs and smoothed his suit jacket. He ran his hand over his face and took a breath again to regain his composure.

“I just want to find Camille and get out of here,” he finally said calmly. He didn’t really care about brick walls, skeletons and whatever else was in the house anymore. He surmised that it was all in his head.

“You are worried about her?” the old woman asked, seemingly concerned.

“Of course, I’m worried about her. I’m her superior officer. I’m responsible for her safety. And I don’t know what her mother would do to me if I let her get hurt.”

“Are you sure that’s all there is to it? You’re worried about her on a professional level only?”

“I’m worried about her as a friend, too.”

“Just as a friend?”

“Look, I don’t really know what you’re getting at.”

The old woman threw her hands up in the air. “Oh I hope your detective sergeant finds you a lot more charming than I do.” She walked up to a bookcase and started scanning the books on a shelf.  “Ah! Here it is!” She took out a small, hardcover book bound in cloth and gilded in gold around the edges. She handed it to Richard. “Do you know the story of this house?”

“The tour guide read a passage about it and Camille told me a few more details,” he said as he skimmed through the first few pages of the book. 

“Yes, the story of the star-crossed lovers who made a lovers’ pact to be together for eternity. I’m assuming you both came here with similar intention,” said the old woman.

“We came here on a Halloween tour,” Richard clarified, still reading the book.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t come here to be together for eternity?”

That got Richard’s attention. “What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re filled with despair and woeful loneliness?” asked the old woman.

Richard was beginning to think the conversation had turned into something absurd. “And why is that?”

The old woman placed a finger on her lips and furrowed her brows, looking perplexed. Her husband wasn’t kidding when he said this Englishman was one tough cookie. He was really more like a rock-hard, days-old bread!

“Hmmm...that’s odd,” she said. “Maybe it’s your detective sergeant then...”

“What about Camille?” Richard asked anxiously. He thought the elderly woman had finally decided to tell him her whereabout.

“You know what, maybe you two should have discussed your true feelings about each other before you came out here. I’m speaking from experience,” the old woman declared instead.

“What experience?” he asked, trying really hard to restrain himself from losing his temper again.

The old woman sighed. “It’s all about complete trust. Both of you should trust each other explicitly to carry out a murder-suicide. I mean, you should feel assured that one or the other will follow through with the deed and that neither one will back out or change his or her mind at the last minute. Imagine if that happens, it will be quite a mess, not to mention a bit criminal. Don’t you think so?”

Richard stared at the old woman. The conversation had definitely turned into something bizarre. He was sure she was mad as a box of frogs. But he stopped himself from saying it out loud lest she decided to go really mental on him. 

“But it says in this book, it was a lovers’ pact,” he pointed out. “It was an agreed plan to commit suicide at the same time so that one is assured of the death of the other. Both expiring without having to wait or see the other one die first.”

It was the old woman’s turn to look at him as if he was crazy. She had never interacted with someone so pedantic before and it annoyed her a little. “Nevertheless, it all comes down to the same outcome, isn’t it? You are both bound to follow the same pattern.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense at all. We didn’t come here to shoot each other,” he protested.

“Well, if she shoots you...”

“Camille won’t shoot me!”

“Or if you shoot first...”

“I would never shoot her!”

“Or she shoots herself...”

“I won’t let her!”

The old woman was back to enjoying herself. She had hit a nerve and she intended to wear him down with it.  “Hmmm...so the bodies on the floor? They must have been a warning of things to come. Maybe there’s a secret lovers’ pact in both of your subconscious that will be triggered sooner or later...”

“None of this even makes sense,” Richard dismissed. He didn’t like what the old woman was trying to imply. He would never do anything to hurt Camille and he was sure she wouldn't want to hurt him. But most importantly, he wouldn’t let anything harm her. “First of all, we’re not lovers...”

“Oh the rational mind at work again. How nice,” the old woman told him condescendingly. “When will you learn that love isn’t about pure logic and science? You are both so attracted to each other it brings the house to life. And yet, you chose to ignore the signs, the words unsaid, the little gestures of kindness, the look of understanding that passes between you...”

“Aaaand SECOND of all, we both don’t carry guns,” Richard cut her off. Feeling triumphant at the obvious fact.

“Really?” The old woman took a breath and shook her head. “What’s that in your hand then?”

Richard glanced down and found an old-fashioned pistol in his hand. “Hold on a minute. I could have sworn I was holding the book that you gave me earlier.” 

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed out the window, the light bulbs went off and on. He thought he heard the old woman giggling but he found himself alone again. The gun, solid and heavy, in his hand.

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Camille came to and found a gun instead of a torch beside her. She quickly grabbed it and got up to try opening the doors again. But they were locked.

“I’m sorry but I had to lock them,” said a voice out of nowhere.

Camille searched for the voice and found the old man sitting on a leather chair, looking intently at her.

“It’s for your protection,” he said, standing up.

“Stay where you are! I don’t want to hurt you,” warned Camille, pointing the gun at him. “I just want to find Richard and get out of here.”

“Well...you may need to defend yourself against that crazy Englishman, you know,” said the old man, not moving from his spot.

“What have you done to him?”

“For now, I kept him safe from his own mad self,” replied the old man. “Do you have any idea why he agreed to come to this house with you? It was because he’s extremely lonely. So lonely, in fact, he has lost touch of reality and just want to spend eternity with you. A chap like that cannot be trusted and no one knows what he’s capable of. He might hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But the Richard Poole I know is a rational and logical man. Sure, he can be annoying and pompous at times but he is also kind and compassionate,” Camille explained desperately. “He couldn’t even hurt a lizard, let alone hurt me. No, that’s not Richard at all. As you said, he may be lonely, but he would rather hide that loneliness from others and hurt himself than run the risk of hurting those he cared about!”

She jumped in surprise when someone pounded on the door. “Camille! Are you in there?” It was Richard.

“You don’t realise how seriously disturbed that man is. How dark and lonely. That man is acting out an unconscious yearning, a deep seated terror of being alone. I’m sure you know about the deaths in this house. Stop and think about what he could do to you! He will...”

“Camille!” Richard called again, this time in earnest.

“I’m in here, Richard,” Camille answered, not letting her guard down with the old man.

“Open the door, Camille!” Richard shouted, turning the knob.

“Unlock the door,” she commanded the old man.

“I’ve seen this happen many times in this house,” the old man warned.

“I don’t believe you,” Camille said. “Just open the door!”

The old man shook his head and took out a key from his pocket. He walked over to the door where Richard was calling out and unlocked it. Richard stepped in, walking past him.

“Richard, I’m glad you’re alright,” Camille began to say as she smiled in relief at the sight of him unharmed. “I was trying...”

She didn’t finish what she was going to say because she saw that Richard was pointing a gun at her. She looked at him in disbelief.

“There’s no going home from this, Camille,” he said with a serious face. “We’re stuck here.”

Camille moved away from him. “What do you mean? Of course, there’s a way out. We make a great team. We’ll figure out something soon enough.”

Richard pulled the trigger and a bullet shattered a vase behind her.

“Merde! Are you trying to kill me, Richard?”

“Sorry, Camille. It has to be this way.”

She didn’t know if she was dealing with the real Richard Poole or just a figment of her imagination. But the gun seemed real and the bullet that came from it was potent and life-threatening. Instinct and training told her to defend herself because there was nowhere to run.

“This isn’t you, Richard. Just put the gun down,” she said, trying to stay calm as she pointed her gun at him. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can’t. You would have to shoot me then.”

“I’m not going to shoot you! I don’t want to shoot you!” She shouted, her resolve crumbling at the thought of having no choice but to shoot him to save them both.

“I don’t want to be lonely anymore, Camille. There’s nobody out there for me except for my job and my books. It’s better this way. See, you and I can be together like this always.”

She sensed the anguish and despair in his tone of voice. She knew all too well how much he was suffering amidst the grumblings, bluster and indifference. “You’re wrong. You have me! Remember when I said you don’t have to solve puzzles on your own anymore. I mean it. I’ll always be with you because I care about you a lot. I promise you won’t be alone anymore. So please, put the gun down.”

Camille lowered her own gun as she waited for her words to take effect on Richard. He seemed to stop on his tracks. She moved closer to him, giving him an encouraging smile: “You and I are going to get out of here. Then we’re going to have a long talk. I have something that I wanted to tell you and I hope you’ll hear me out, okay?”

Richard nodded as he slowly lowered his pistol and gave her a brief smile. “I love you, Camille,” he said as he pulled the trigger and shot her point-blank in the stomach.

She stepped back in shock. The sudden pain she received from the bullet had knock the wind out of her. But it was nothing compared to the hurt and betrayal her heart took. She couldn’t believe Richard had shot her! He said he loved her but he shot her anyway. Why? She thought they were friends.

She looked at him as her legs give way under her. His face showed neither remorse nor regret. She gasped for air, desperately blinking back the tears and willing her blood not to spill out. It was no use. She could taste something metallic in her mouth. “Ri...Richard,” she breathed out.

He just stood motionless, looking at her. But her eyes grew wide when she saw him placed the gun on his temple. She let out a wordless scream.

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Meanwhile, Richard was still trying to figure out how the old woman slipped a gun in his hand without him being aware of it. Perhaps, it was misdirection and sleight of hand. She was definitely trying to distract him with all that weird talk about him and Camille having a lovers’ pact. 

It was most likely that she took a gun out of the bookshelf instead of a book and managed to divert his attention from it through a dozen tricks or so. That old bat was one hell of a scam artist, he thought. After this was over, he would haul everyone involved in the tour and charge them for toying with police officers and illegally possessing a firearm.

He inspected the old fashioned pistol. He pushed the cylinder out and saw that it had several live rounds in it. He was debating whether to keep it with him or hide it somewhere so that neither the old man nor old woman could get a hold of it again. He was beginning to think he was dealing with psychopaths. He fervently hoped they hadn’t hurt Camille.

He took out his mobile phone again and tried to call for backup. But the blasted phone had no signal. He tried to quell the rising panic and dread, he knew the longer they were separated, the lower the chances of them getting out of the house safely. He had to find  a way out of this place fast.

He walked to one of the locked doors and yanked on the knob again. It wouldn’t budge. He was about to kick it in frustration when Camille’s voice called out from the other side.

“Richard! Are you in there?”

“Camille? I’m in here, Camille. I’m locked in,” he shouted back, trying to rein in his excitement and relief at hearing his detective sergeant’s voice. From the sound of her, he surmised that she was alright.

“Let me see if I can pick the lock from out here.”

Richard heard her working on the lock feverishly. After a few jiggles and bangings, he heard a click, the knob turned and the door opened. He was about to say something happy to Camille but what greeted him made him step back abruptly. Camille had a gun pointed right at him.

“Camille, what are you doing?” He asked crankily. Part of him wanted to think that she was just playing a practical joke on him. And yet, another part of him urged him to be on guard and be ready to defend himself.

Camille fired the gun just above his head. Richard ducked for cover.

“What the bloody hell?! Are you out of your mind? Camille!”

“There’s no getting out of here, Richard,” she finally said. She took a shot again and hit a vase.

He was shocked at how easily she fired the gun at him. There was no hesitation, no second thought. The Camille he knew would never place a colleague or a friend in danger. She would never harm them willingly. What had they done to her?

“Camille, come on. Put the gun down. Please!”

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?” Her tone was both mocking and challenging. “You have a gun. You can shoot me, you know.”

“I’m not going to shoot you! I don’t want to shoot you!” He shouted desperately.

He was trying to think how he could wrestle the gun out of her hands. It would definitely be difficult, given Camille’s combat expertise. Plus, there was a huge risk that one of them may get shot accidentally. He really didn’t want something like that to happen especially if they get locked in the room again with no chance of medical help.

Perhaps, it would be less risky to just graze her. Still, this would mean he would have to shoot her, a choice that he really didn’t want to make. No, he resolved not to shoot her and he meant it. But he would have to hurt her enough to incapacitate her and save them both.

“It’s either me or you...you or me...one of us has to do it, Richard.”

“Camille, listen to me, this isn’t you. You’re too stubborn to give up and I know you know that. So we don’t have to do this. We can get out of here.”

“Even if we could, what’s waiting for us out there? The same old job and only being work colleagues. There’s nobody for me and there’s nobody for you, too, right? So it’s better this way. We could give up and be together.”

Richard’s heart clenched at her declaration. He had thought Camille had it all —her mother, her friends and a bucket load of men to choose from as life partners. But as far as he knew, she had never mentioned anybody she considered special. It was none of his business after all. But sometimes, he would allow himself to hope that she would consider him as someone special because even if he couldn’t say it out loud or, heaven forbid, reveal it to her, she was special to him.

“That’s not true. You have your mother, your friends, Fidel and Dwayne and me. You have me. I haven’t told you, have I? You’re very important to me. I know all I ever do is whinge and grumble about how I miss London. But when I actually went back there, all I ever wanted to see again was you.”

“I know this is going to sound sentimental, but I don’t think I would last in Saint Marie or anywhere else for that matter, without you. I need you. I want us to get out of here. But I can’t do it alone, not without your help. So what do you say, partner?”

He gave her his best lopsided smile. He had revealed more of his feelings for her than he should but he hoped it would be enough to stop her and make her think.

Camille gave him a slight nod, easing her stance. She smiled briefly at him and proceeded to lower her gun. 

“Good. Now I think it would be safe to give the gun to me for safekeeping. Don’t you think so?” asked Richard as he stepped forward to reach for it in her hand.

But Camille took a step back and smiled up at him again. “I love you, Richard,” she simply said and shot him in the stomach up close.

He didn’t know what surprised him the most, the fact that she just said she loved him or the fact that she just shot him. His brain was trying to catch up to what was happening in his heart and body. His heart soared at the thought, she loved him and yet she put a bullet in his gut. Why?

His brain couldn’t comprehend what happened. It was as if it was refusing to acknowledge that fact given how light and warm he felt. But his body had other ideas. He staggered back, hand clutched on his stomach. He could feel his warm blood soaking his suit.

He fell to the floor, the physical pain finally catching up to him. “Ca...Camille...”  He looked at her and saw her face stoic and unmoving. He willed himself to get up as he gasped for air. He was afraid of what would come next. Another bullet. But it was no use. He was losing consciousness fast.

As if Camille read his thoughts, she pointed the barrel of the gun on her temple. “Camille!” He managed to shout out. “No...please don’t!”

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

“Camille!” 

He sat bolt upright in the darkness. Dust and debris scattering around him. He tried to discern where he was as he squinted in the gloom. But a sudden fear gripped his heart. ‘Camille!’ He instantly thought.

He heard her groan somewhere beside him. He crawled on all fours, scattering broken wooden floorboards, dust and sand all over the place. He only had one thing on his mind, to get to his detective sergeant.

He put his hands out hesitantly in the darkness, praying that he wouldn’t accidentally grope her. But he was getting accustomed to the dimness and somewhat saw where she was lying. He knelt beside her and immediately felt for her neck, checking for a pulse as he placed his ear close to her nose.

‘She’s breathing,’ he thought in relief. He cleared away the debris on her and dusted off the sand and dirt. He wanted to cry out in gratitude at finding her alive. He thought he had lost her.

“Camille? Wake up. Come on, we need to go,” he coaxed as he gently tap her cheeks.

Camille stirred. Her head was still in a haze when she blinked her eyes open. It was all dark around her. She willed herself to get used to her surroundings. What was this place? Where was she? A sudden worry crept up on her: ‘Where’s Richard?’ 

“Richard?” she called out frantically.

“Shh...I’m right here,” he quickly said, moving closer to her. “Take it easy alright? We had a fall.”

She could feel his hand holding hers tightly as if she was going to disappear or fly away.

“Richard,” she said again, trying to sit herself up.

“I said take it easy. You might have injuries that we don’t know about,” he admonished, not masking his fear and worry.

“I’m fine,” she protested. “Just...help me up!”

Still holding on to her hand, he pulled her up while lifting her shoulders with his other hand. The dust, sand and other debris spread and spilled over to her side and in the air.

Her head throbbed violently as she tried to make out what was in the darkness around them. A sliver of light came inside the house from the little bit of moonlight reflected by the windows. She looked up and saw a huge gaping hole in the middle of the stairs going to the second floor. Part of the dilapidated staircase had collapsed and remnants of it littered the floor.

Her gaze went to Richard, who was sitting beside her and still holding her hand. She could scarcely make out his face in the gloom. But she was sure he was alive and well. Unlike in her nightmare. She grabbed him by the neck and hugged him as tightly as she could while trying desperately not to cry.

“Ompf!” the surprised Richard let out, feeling her warmth surround him. “What’s the matter?” He asked with concern as he patted her back gingerly.

Camille just shook her head. “I just had a nightmare,” she managed to choke out.

For some reason, Richard knew what she was talking about. He experienced the same thing, only in his nightmare, she was the one...he stopped himself from thinking it. It was something he didn’t want to revisit ever. He was just glad she, too, was safe. He absentmindedly held her tight.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she whispered.

“No, I’m glad we're alright,” he said flippantly. “Looks like the staircase collapsed and we fell 10 feet down. We’re lucky these bundles of blanket insulation were here to break our fall. We’ll be badly hurt if these hadn't been here and we hit the marbled floor.”

Camille nodded and relaxed her hold on him. “I thought you don’t believe in luck or coincidences or those sorts of things.”

Richard pursed his lips. He was secretly overjoyed his detective sergeant was back in full force. “Well just for today, I’m thankful for that luck. Tomorrow, I’ll be back to regular programming.”

Camille smiled to herself, happy at the thought that this was the Richard she knew well. She felt his hand untangle her arms and she was about to complain. But Richard gently touched her face as if he wanted to get a good look at her. He asked seriously: “Are you sure you’re alright? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I’m all right. Except for a headache and some soreness, I don’t think I have any injuries,” Camille reassured.

“No broken bones? Hold on, a headache?” he asked, reaching for her head and trying to examine it. “You must have hit your head. We should go to A&E and have that looked at.” He was clearly fussing now.

Camille swatted his hands. “Richard! Could you stop it? I’m fine.”

“I just want to make sure,” he muttered sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes even though she knew he wouldn’t see it. “How about you? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Not that I know of, but, ooowww,” he pressed his lower back. “Looks like my back feel a little sore.”

“Should we go to A&E for it?” Camille asked half-teasing and half-worrying. “Can you walk? Here, let me help you.”

Richard snatched his arm away and glared at her. He knew his glare would be ineffective but he had to do it out of habit. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Good,” said Camille, looking toward the French doors. “We better get out of here then. It’s not raining that hard anymore.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Richard agreed. “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

Camille stared at him suspiciously. She was going to ask him something, but he already made his way down the pile of insulation. He reached his hand up to her, waiting for her to take it.

Under normal circumstances, she would have refused his offer of assistance. But something unexplainable happened to them tonight, so she needed the comfort of his physical presence and logical thinking. So she took Richard's hand and he helped her down.

They quickly walked toward the French door where they came in earlier, neither one talking or letting their torches roam in the house. But Camille stopped in her tracks.

“What?” Richard asked, almost in a panic. He thought Camille had heard a thumping noise upstairs again.

“We need to talk,” she said firmly.

“Yes, we will,” he agreed quickly. “But not here. Now, come on.” Richard looked this way and that as if making sure no one was listening in the house. He opened the door for her.

Camille nodded in understanding. He was right, not here. She hastily got out of the door and Richard shut it firmly behind them.

They both half-ran and half-walked toward the parked Defender. Neither one of them, looking back.

* * *

 


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

From one of the second floor windows of the Garden of Eden Mansion stood an elderly couple. They were looking at the receding figures of Richard and Camille.

“It’s going to be quite lonely in here again,” the old woman lamented.

“My dear, you’re not alone, you know,” the old man teased.

“I know that, darling, what I mean is there’s nobody to spook and haunt and what-have-yous around here,” she sighed as she prepared some tea.

“Oh don’t worry. In a year or two, this place will be bustling with people again,” her husband reassured her.

“I sure do hope they don’t turn this house into a circus attraction. We work small. How are we supposed to do our hauntings if there are just too many people around?”

The old man chuckled. “There is no pleasing you, is there?”

“Well, we do our work with high standards,” she quipped as she poured some tea in two cups.

“Hah! Pop psychology is high standard?” the old man balked.

“It worked for those two,” the old woman pointed out, taking a tea cup for herself and sitting down on a leather arm chair.

Her husband gave her a look and picked up his own cup of tea. “Alright, I admit it. It took a while, though.”

“My goodness that Englishman is one stubborn, not-so-charming but definitely shrewd man. It was as if he has this high impenetrable walls around him with a moat full of sharks and crocodiles,” his wife said in a long suffering tone. “I had a feeling that if I had declared I was a ghost to him, he would have laughed at my face. Oh the shame!”

The old man chuckled and nearly spilt his tea. “I’m sorry you have to go through that, my dear. The young woman, on the other hand, I think she’s a believer even if she didn’t show it.”

“I think some of the traits of the Englishman had rubbed off on her. She was trying to think things through logically but deep inside, she knew what was happening. But she’s brave and fiercely loyal and so very much in love with him,” the old woman said dreamily.

“But I had to hand it to you, my dear, the idea of that lovers’ pact was genius. It had the desired effect,” her husband winked at her.

“Oh credit also goes to you, my dear husband. That last bit, the gun on the head, that was a work of art. It had so much impact, I wouldn’t be surprised if those two will be scarred for life,” she waggled her eyebrows at him.

“It can’t be helped. They both kept denying what was in their hearts. If we could only bash their heads together to make them realise it. But we couldn’t. I know it was a huge risk. But desperate times called for desperate measures,” he said, feeling contrite.

“I suppose it had to be done for their own good. But do you think they will be all right?” She was sincerely concerned.

“Did you not hear what they agreed on earlier?” The old man leant close to her.

“No. What?”

“They are going to talk.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a start,” the old woman smiled. “Yes, that will be a good start. It may go both ways but I hope they will, at least, be honest with each other.”

“As they say, only time will tell. Look at us. We've been honest with each other for eternity. Love does that.”

“Darling, you are such a romantic. You know, we should be doing this on Valentine’s Day and not on All Hallow’s Eve.”

“Oh I don’t know. Valentine's Day is deathly boring,” said the old man, sipping his tea contentedly. "Matchmaking through haunting is fun. It's quite a novel idea to frighten people to love each other instead of forcing them to commit a double murder, don't you think so?"

“I definitely agree with you on that one,” said the old woman primly. “Besides, a double murder will just be so dreadful on the new carpets!”

The elderly couple laughed heartily.

"A Happy Hallow's Eve to you, my dearest Adelaide."

"A Happy Halloween to you, too, my darling Emil."

 

 FIN

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a chapter 13 for this story. But it's still in my head. So I shan't promise anything. 
> 
> Oh did I just troll you? LOL. I'm so sorry, I'm evil that way. *cackles maniacally* >;-)


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